“There’s not a lot to think about,” Valentino says. “At the end of the day, you’ll need a stronger heart and I’ll have one to spare.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing, Orion. You saved my life even though you know I’m dying. There’s no better way to thank you for helping me live longer than by repaying the favor.”

“You get that that’s not why I saved you, right?”

“Of course I know that. You’re not some vulture.”

Seriously, swapping my heart for his hasn’t crossed my mind once. Since Valentino got his End Day call, I’ve been too busy dodging bullets and surviving a massive heart attack and mourning a friend-in-the-making while he’s still alive to even selfishly think about what this could mean for me.

“Just say yes,” Valentino says.

“Look, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever wanted to do for me, but it’s not that simple. First, we need to be matches for blood type and—”

“I’m your match,” Valentino says like he has access to my medical records. “I have blood type O.”

So that makes him a universal donor, aka he’s technically everyone’s match.

“No one ever knows their blood type,” I say. I didn’t even know mine was A+ until I was constantly in and out of the hospital. Seriously, I was so ignorant that the first time I saw that A+ on paper I didn’t read it as A-positive, I thought it was A-plus, like my blood got dope grades even though I have a failing heart. “Why do you know yours?”

“I was preparing for the worst after Scarlett’s accident. I told the doctors I was willing to donate organs and blood if it would save her life.”

I’m upset that the world is about to lose this extraordinary human.

“Okay, but let’s say everything else is good to go for the transplant,” I say, really trying to get it into his head that this is complicated stuff. “It’s not like we’re trading Christmas presents. This is heart surgery. I could—” I shut the fuck up because I don’t need to tell someone who’s about to die that I’m nervous about losing my own life.

“Death-Cast didn’t call you,” Valentino says, shrugging off my stupidity. “If we—or, well, you and the doctors—do this today, then you should be in the clear, right?”

If a cardiologist confirms that we’re legit matches for surgery, then this would be game-changing and lifesaving.

I could finally become a novel instead of a short story.

“This isn’t fair,” I say.

“How you’ve been living isn’t fair either,” Valentino says.

“But that’s not your problem. You deserve to live—”

“I’m not going to!” he shouts, his cheeks flushed.